A Friendly Little Competition
by Whattamess
Summary: Ch. 3 finally up. Does Alan know what he's getting into? Thanks to my driving partner Tikatu for dialogue enhancement. The saga continues... I need encouragement. Please read and review.
1. Asking and Accpetance

It was another idyllic day at the south Pacific home of multi-billionaire Jefferson Tracy. His private island was awash with tropical breezes as the sun smiled serenely down on the azure of the ocean.

  


But no one was enjoying it at the moment.

  


All of the denizens of the Island, including good friend and current guest Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, were deep in the bowels of the island, oohing and aahing over the engineer Brains' latest creation.

  


"Brains, You've done it again. This one will even be better than the first." Alan said, gliding his hand over the contoured features. 

  


"Th-thanks, Alan. I've adjusted the tortion some and added a new c-component to the engine. It will make the fuel into a richer m-mixture." Brains said, with pride in his voice.

  


"Yes, Brains. This is a lovely new race car for Alan. Where will you race it first?" Lady Penelope asked both the engineer and the driver. The two looked at each other.

  


"We hadn't decided quite yet, Lady Penelope," Alan explained. "There are a number of different races to choose from."

  


"Hmmm." she hummed as she stroked the smooth finish. "This is so unlike FAB-1. And so very unlike the other car I saw that might give this one a run for the money."

  


"What car would that be, Penny?" Jeff asked, curious.

  


"Oh, it belongs to one of my fellow agents. You know the one, Jeff. He helped us out immensely when those imposters were running around impersonating International Rescue. Jeremiah Tuttle. His car was quite impressively fast." Penelope replied.

  


Alan looked over to his father, his eyes full of curiosity. "What kind of car could possibly outrun this baby? Isn't Jeremiah, that old hillbilly that lives in the states?" he said, skeptically. 

  


"Yes son, Jeremiah is a hillbilly, but he is a good soul. And they don't come more honest. Jeremiah has an old 20th century Model T Ford." Jeff described modestly. He went on to describe his old friend and his machine. 

  


In the background could be heard roaring laughter coming from Gordon. Doubled over holding his side, he gasped, "You mean that we should race Alan's new car against Jeremiah's old jalopy? It'd never get past the starting line. Alan would be finished by the time he got the motor started." he crowed.

  


"Don't underestimate this 'jalopy' of Jeremiah Tuttle's, Gordon," Penelope remonstrated, shaking a delicate finger. "He has 'souped up' the vehicle, as I believe you call it." She sighed. "It was almost fast enough to outrace FAB-1."

  


"Wouldn't a race between the two cars be amusing?" Tin-Tin said with a soft smile.

  


"Y-Yes," agreed Brains. "It would b-be a good, uh, shakedown for this c-car."

  


"Then it's settled," Jeff said, trying to hide a grin. "I'll get in touch with Jeremiah and see if he's interested."

  


Scott and Virgil looked at each other and shook their heads. "I've got to tell John about this. He'll never believe it." Virgil said, slyly. 

  


Parker had been standing behind the congregation, eyeing the new piece of automotive machinery. His face brightened as a thought entered his mind. *H'I've got to contact some h'of me ol' chums.* 

  


"Ah, Dad, where are going to stage this little race?" Scott questioned. 

  


"Parola Sans!" Gordon jumped in, "It's the perfect place. The regular racing season is over. No one would come out to an isolated place like that for a 2 car race." he enjoined. 

  


"Now wait a minute!" Alan cut him off. " No one's bothered to ask me if I wanted this race." 

All faces turned towards him. 

  


"Well?" asked Virgil. 

  


Gordon pulled Alan by his arm out of earshot of everyone. 

  


"Come on, Alan, you have to do this." 

  


"Why?" asked Alan. 

  


Gordon blinked a few times, then bit his lip. He closed his amber eyes as if in deep thought. "I'll think of a good reason later. But you have to do this. You can do it for Tracy pride.... yeah that's it! Tracy pride." 

  


Gordon stood up straight. He blew across his fingers then rubbed them across his chest, "And besides, I'm going to be your chief mechanic." he said, proudly. Alan rolled his eyes. 

Before Alan could answer, Gordon dashed off to advise the group that Alan had accepted.

  


***********************************

  


Jeff put a call in to his old friend, Jeremiah. He could hardly contain his laughter as a vision of the two cars racing swam into view.

  


Jeremiah had just come back from hunting, when his stove beeped for attention.

  


"Yew got a cawl, Jeremiah," drawled his wife from her rocking chair on the porch.

  


"So I see, Maw. Must be mah ol' friend Jeff Tracy, needin' me to do mah part fer International Rescue," Jeremiah replied as he entered his cabin. He pressed a button and a vent on the stove pipe opened, revealing a sophisticated vidphone, and the image of Jeff Tracy smiling out at Jeremiah.

  


"Wahl, hello there, Jeff!" Jeremiah said with a big grin. "What kin I do fer yew today? More spies to ketch?"

  


"Hello, yourself, Jeremiah. You're looking fit as a fiddle!" Jeff exclaimed, his own grin mirroring that of the hillbilly's. "No spies to catch today, but I do have a favor to ask."

  


"Yew name it, Jeff," Jeremiah said stoutly. "Yew know I'll do anythin' fer International Rescue!"

  


"Well, Jeremiah. We're always developing new technology out here at our base," Jeff explained. "And we're wanting to test some of it real soon. We've put it into a race car that my son, Alan, is going to drive. But we need to give the boy a challenge. Lady Penelope remembered your souped-up car, and thought that a friendly little race might be just the ticket."

  


"A race?" Jeremiah drawled, a puzzled tone to his voice. "Hmmm. I s'pose I could do thet. If'n yew think it'd help. I'm shure thet enny car yer brain boys could come up with would wipe mah little jalopy off'n the map."

  


"I'm not so sure about that, Jeremiah. Lady Penelope was quite impressed with your 'little jalopy'." Jeff remonstrated. "This could be quite a match up."

  


"Lady Penny-lope was impressed, yew say? Wahl than, yew have yerself a race!" he said excitedly. "When and whare?"

  


"I'll arrange the time and place, Jeremiah. You leave the shipping of your car to me. Everything will be taken care of." Jeff said.

  


"Okay, Mr. Tracy, lookin' farwad to seein' yew agin." Jeremiah said, signing off.

  


Ma had been standing behind Jeremiah. "Yew shure yew wanna wup tha' Tracy boy? I heerd he'un was a good driver." she questioned him.

  


Jeremiah looked at the gray stringy-haired old woman. "Maw, if'n we can make them beans o' yerz into liquid fuel, thar ain't no way we can looz." he said, winking at her.

  
  



	2. Making Preparations

Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds or the Tracys. Though I can hope so. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.

A/N: Some words are intentionally misspelled to indicate dialect. Please R/R.

Black smoke billowed out from above the treetops. Below could be heard the clatter of metal against metal, the gurgle and popping of boiling liquid. 

  


Drip.... drip.... drip.... 

  


"Paw, whatcha yew doin?" the old woman called out. 

  


She emerged from behind some bushes, pulling her apron off the limb that had snagged it.

  


Drip.... drip.... drip....

  


"Dagnabit, Maw, yew 'bout skeerd th' life out of'n me!" he said, clutching the bib of his overalls. "I'm emprovin' yer beans. Added a few of mah own see-kret en-gree-dee-ints."

  


Drip.... drip.... drip....

  


"An't this yer ol' still?" she looked at him puzzled.

  


"Yeh, Maw, 'tis mah ol' still. 'Tis the only way t' make th' fewel I'm gonna need t' whup tha' Tracy whippersnapper."

  


"Do yew think it'll werk, Paw? I reckon tha' th' beans'll blow ol' Betsy apart!"

  


"Wahl, Maw, I figgurs ol' Betsy's none tew partiklar 'bout what she eats."

  


Drip.... drip.... drip....

  


Jeremiah removed the full mason jar, screwed the rusty lid on tight, and put an empty jar under the spigot. He held up the jar against the rays of the sun, viewing with pride his new and improved bean formula. *Mebbe thar maht be a market fer this. And Maw 'n me ken be as rich as that thar Lady Penny-lope,* he mused.

  


~*~*~*~*~

  


Parker had gotten in contact with a few of his old cell mates from Parkmoor Scrubs. Light-Fingered Fred had been released a few months before, swearing never to attempt to rob the Bank of England again. They met at the local Fox and Hound pub.

  


"Parker, ol' chum are you sure about this? This sounds like a long shot." guffawed Fred.

  


"Sure as me name h'is Nosey Parker. This h'is a cahn't miss. H'Oi've seen this 'illbillie's car. H'It's faster than h'anything h'Oi've h'ever seen." he said confidently. 

  


"So we can clean up?" Fred asked skeptically. 

  


"Chum, there h'is no limit." Parker said, his thick cockney accent oozing sheer delight at the prospect of making more than he could dream of. 

  


The old cellmates raised their beer steins and clinked to each other's health and future wealth.

  


~*~*~*~*~*~

  


"How's it coming, Brains?" Alan asked the engineer. Brains slid out from beneath the car's engine, his work coverall smeared with oil, a wrench in his hand.

  


"I've t-tuned it up to a fine, uh, point, Alan," Brains said, wiping his hands on a rag. "It's at peak p-performance."

  


"Great!" Alan exclaimed. "Now, let's just keep it there. Has Gordon talked to you about being the mechanic on this baby?"

  


"N-No, Alan. He has not," Brains replied, absently wiping his glasses with the rag. "And I s-suggest you try to, uh, persuade him to stay out of the p-pit. I should be a-able to, uh, provide you with all the help you m-may need."

  


"Okay, Brains. I'll talk to him. But it's gonna take a lot of persuading to keep him away," Alan said, shaking his head. "It's almost dinner time. See you in the dining room."

  


"S-Sure, Alan. See you there." Brains put his glasses back on his face and squinted through the oily lenses. *Hmmm. Something wrong here.* Then he looked down at the rag in his hand, and groaned.

  


~*~*~*~*~

  


Alan entered the dining area. Everyone had seated themselves at their customary places. 

  


"So, Father, I take it all the arrangements are made?" Scott asked, as he spooned some vegetables onto his plate. 

  


Jeff could feel all eyes on him. "Yes, son. Jeremiah's car will be shipped to Parola Sans in one week." he answered directly. He canvassed the room, noticing his fourth son hurriedly filling his plate. 

  


"Gordon, will you please slow down!" 

  


Gordon lifted his head, "Sorry, Father. But I need to get down and check out the car. I want everything to be in tiptop shape." 

  


Alan bit his lip. He gazed away, trying hard not to look at anyone. 

  


"Gordon, the car will still be there whether you eat fast or slow." Jeff admonished him. 

  


Virgil had noticed Alan's discomfort. "Not getting last minute jitters, are you, Alan?" teased Virgil.

  


"Uh, no, Virge. Not at all." Alan replied quickly. He applied himself to his food, keeping his mouth full so he wouldn't have to respond to any more questions.

  


*How do I tell Gordon to stay away from the pit?* he worried. *He's going to be so disappointed.... heck, no, he'll be furious!* Alan continued eating, silently wishing for a meteor or something of the sort to drop on him and put him out of his misery.

  


Gordon finished his meal in record time, and started to excuse himself to go down to the hangars when a stern voice stopped him in his tracks.

  


"Gordon Cooper Tracy! You will not leave this table until you've had some dessert!" Grandma chided. "I've baked your favorite pie and I won't see you go running off without any. So you just forget about that car for the moment and sit down!"

  


Gordon murmured a "sorry, gramma" and sheepishly sat back down. 

  


~*~*~*~*~*~

  


Lady Penelope had rung up her friends, Lord Stilton and Sir Jeremy Hodges.

  


"Gentlemen, I have a very interesting proposition for you.........."


	3. Deceleration and Acceleration

Disclaimer: Thunderbirds doesn't belong to me. Though I wish they did. (Especially Thunderbirdone's pilot...SIGH)

Gordon tirade's had gone on for 10 minutes. Alan swiped his hand over his face. This speech was getting louder and longer.

"ENOUGH will you! I've heard every excuse you have to offer, Gordon. Let's just face it. You're just not chief mechanic material. Brains invented this car and he knows what she's all about. Now if you want to help, you can be his assistant," he offered as an alternative solution.

"Assistant...?" Gordon sputtered. "You...want me to be his assistant?" A hint of jaded negativity sounded in his voice. "Oh, I see. In other words, you want me to the fetch and tote boy?!" He cocked his head, giving his younger brother a sideways glare.

The amber eyes on the fourth Tracy son squinted and narrowed, "But you said I could be Chief mechanic," he shot back.

"No, Gordon, you appointed yourself in that position. Now you can take it or leave it. Make up your mind." Alan responded, his demeanor now more like his father when his mind was made up. 

Gordon's face was now as red as his hair, "I'm leaving it. You can keep that stupid hunk of junk." He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Alan was not surprised at his brother's answer. Gordon, though always the happy prankster, had a temper that was to be reckoned with. He shook his head and called out ,"LET ME KNOW IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND!" The last thing Alan heard was the door to the garage slam shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"How's it comin', Paw?" Ma Tuttle asked her husband. 

"Wahl, Maw, Ah've tuned 'er up as best Ah ken," Jeremiah replied, pulling his head out from under Betsy's hood. "Ah think she'll do awl right with thet fuel Ah made from yer beans, Maw. Gonna test 'er out right now."

"Ken Ah come along fer th' ride, Paw?" Maw asked, a gleam in her rheumy eye.

Jeremiah scratched his head, pushing back his hat. "Ah dunno, Maw. It maht be dangerous."

"Pshaw, Paw! Yew know Ah ken handle it! Ah cooked them beans in the fust place!" Maw exclaimed.

Jeremiah shook his head. "Wahl, ohkay, Maw. Let's test ol' Betsy out."

************************

Jeremiah poured a quart of the fuel into Betsy's tank. Maw's eyes widened.

"Is thet all she needs?"

"Yep. Thet's all."

Jeremiah got into the driver's seat, and put on a pair of driving goggles.

"Whut do ye need them fer, Paw?"

"Ah 'spect thet they'll be lots o' dust at thet Pair-o-lah Sands place. Don' want it gettin' in mah ayes, Maw."

"Now, that's raht clever, Paw," Ma admired. "An' yew look so han'some in 'em tew." She squeezed his arm.

Jeremiah sat up straighter, a pleased look on his face. He turned over the engine.

"Purrs lahk a kitten, Maw!" He put Betsy in gear. "Hang on tew yer hat, Maw!"

As Betsy leapt away, tires squealing and spattering mud everywhere, Jeremiah and Maw were slammed back into their seats. Despite her best efforts, Maw's best Sunday hat went flying off.

"Wahooooo!" shouted Jeremiah. "Yeeee haaawwww!"

Jeremiah shifted into second and Betsy went even faster.

"Look out fer thet curve, Paw!" Maw shouted, hiding her face in her apron.

"Hang on tight, Maw!"

Betsy went screaming around the curve, lifting up precariously on two wheels.

"Whoooo!" Jeremiah shouted as they came onto the straightaway, the wheels dropping down into place. Another shift, and the landscape around Betsy became a blur.

"Paw?!" Maw said shakily. "Ah'm not so shure...."

"One more gear, Maw! Jes' one more gear!" Jeremiah hollered. "Ready, set, here she goes!"

Jeremiah put Betsy into fourth, and the chassis began to shake. There was a loud *crack!*. He held on grimly to the steering wheel and brought the Model T around one more corner. Then he applied the brakes. The wheels locked and left a trail of rubber for yards as the jalopy skidded to a stop.

"Yee Haw! Thet was some ride, wasn't it, Maw?" Jeremiah turned to his wife and did a double take. She was sitting perfectly still, a look of surprise and terror on her face, hair all loose and brushed back severely from her forehead. She blinked once, twice, three times, then relaxed.

"Paw," she said shakily. "Ah'll nevah doubt yew agin. When yew tell me it's dangerous, Ah'll b'leve yew."

Jeremiah laughed heartily. "Wahl now, Maw. Yew don' have to wurry none about gettin' back t' the house. Ah'll take it nice an' slow, jes' fer yew."

"Paw, look'ee!" Maw brushed her hair out of her eyes and pointed to a gauge on the dashboard. Jeremiah's eyes opened wide, and his smile grew even wider.

"Well, if thet don' beat awl! I done broke mah spee-dom-eter!" Jeremiah started Betsy up again, this time using a light touch on the accelerator. He turned the car around and headed back to the cabin. "Yessiree, Maw. I b'leve we got us here a winnah."

************************

Unbeknownst to the couple, someone was watching them. Someone who had been watching them through binoculars for a few days now. Someone who was very, very interested in Jeremiah's bean fuel. Someone who clocked the racing Betsy with radar, totally shocked when the miles per hour kept climbing and climbing. Someone with swarthy Asian features and big bushy eyebrows.

He smiled. "Soon. Soon I will have the secret of that bean fuel. And then I will be able to better pursue the secrets of International Rescue!"

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
